50 (bp coyle)

The cake had turned into an ugly mess I had been poking and prodding it for so long. It was a less than appetising sight, I pushed the plate away in disgust. I’m not much of a cake fan anyway.

Happy birthday to me,’ I thought with a sigh. ‘Fifty! How the Hell could I actually be fifty?’

I usually love my birthday, it’s my day, just for me. Not like Christmas which is for everyone, this day is all mine. So what if thousands of other share it with me, I’ve ever met any of them so they don’t count.

But fifty! I mean, geez. There’s nothing fun about fifty.

I really didn’t think it would hit me so hard. Thirty was a bit tricky but forty didn’t get to me at all. Now it’s ‘next stop sixty.’ My life is almost over.

I poured a large, a very large, brandy and sighed again.

By the time I was on to my third glass I wasn’t feeling quite so glum. It is a decade until I have to worry about any of this again. That’s nine birthdays I can enjoy in peace. Something to look forward to really.

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